Born to Fly
by Linda-Nairika
Summary: A princess and a guy like... what, actually? This is an attempt at reconstructing Han's background and some other elements of his biography. Fair warning No 1: AU. Fair warning No 2: English is not my first language.


**Disclaimer:** As to the _Star Wars_, I don't own anything but a piece of imagination and an ability to feel affection. None of those are extremely profitable in the financial sense. So I happily don't make any money of my activities in this field.

**Born to Fly**

_by Linda-Nairika_

_**Let's raise our cups to those, who were not afraid of glory. **_

_**Let's raise our cups to those, who didn't lack love to give,**_

_**Let's raise our cups to those, who laughed facing Death as its quarry,**_

_**But first of all, let's greet those, who simply dared to live.**_

_Yllet_

_/Translated from Russian by Linda-Nairika/_

**Part 1. What Price Freedom**

A long-fingered hand hit the button of an alarm unit and returned under the pillow. But the signal had obviously made it restless, so in a couple of moments the limb emerged again and pulled the blanket down, revealing a dark-haired head. The head opened one hazel eye and looked at the chronometer, as if in hope to prove the alarm wrong. No such luck. A heavy sigh escaped the head's lips, and the blanket was thrown away regretfully, but determinedly.

Lieutenant Han Solo said bye-bye to his all too short vacation and concentrated on the tasks at hand.

Number one. To get dressed.

It didn't take him long, and in five minutes a mirror reflected a tall young man in the Imperial gray uniform. The military cut suited him well, highlighting the flawless contours of his lean frame – broad shoulders, slim waist, narrow hips; but the glance he cast at his image was brief and lacked in vanity. Han was aware of his good looks, but never took them as his personal virtue. Instead, his fingers hesitated at the seam of his trousers and traced a golden stripe, attached to it. _Well, I've got a day-off_, he thought with a good deal of self-directed irony, as he tried to smother his grudging pride. _Isn't that more valuable than this piece of cloth? _Still, Solo smiled self-consciously. To be awarded the full Corellian Bloodstripe at the age of twenty-two… There was no such precedent in the history. _Come on, that wasn't that hard to pull,_ he admonished himself, disregarding the tiny fact it was a miracle he had survived. _Don't get too big for your shoes, Solo._

Number two. To pay Tchal for the room.

Han fished out a five-credit coin and put it on the night table. Then he made the bed neatly and looked around for any traces of his being there. Even he couldn't say whether it was a military habit or a precautious measure. A mixture of both, probably.

Number three. To report back to Captain Cravis.

Solo sighed and chuckled at the same time. Sometimes his luck pulled stunts like that on him. There were not so many officers who really hated him. But that one did it with so much passion that Han was genuinely puzzled. Well, sure, he knew which of his features annoyed the upper echelon. But there was a kind of an unspoken agreement between the two parties: the officers of the higher rank took Han's sharp tongue and boldness as an inevitable evil, while the young Corellian never did anything to broke the very core of the military discipline.

Cravis' feelings made his teeth rattle, when he signed up Han's pass-chip for the day-off that came with the award. And the warning to make it back in time went out in a manner, suggesting that the captain wouldn't mind having a reason to punish him, if the Corellian were late. Well, Han was resolute to disappoint Cravis. That's why he now strode to the grim building of the Greldian Fortress.

Greldia was a large commercial planet in the Corellian Sector. As a matter of fact, the whole world was one enormous city, save a narrow wild terrain along the seashore, and the life was boiling there all the day round. Han had an opportunity to check it last night. He snorted with wry amusement, when he thought how round his friends' eyes would have become, if they found out how he spent his time after they parted. The guys were probably sure he would just head for the Merry Streets. Instead, Solo rented a swoop and disappeared in the wildness of the seaside. He needed a couple of hours to himself. Han enjoyed company, but he hated being hero-worshipped. Besides, being in the center of everyone's admiring attention reminded him… Solo cut this line of thoughts ruthlessly.

The Corellian wasn't late, and Cravis' grimace was so heartfelt that he merely suppressed the urge to laugh, not willing to provide the captain with the reason he needed. Cravis registered his presence and glared at the young man. "Should I be prepared for the troubles with the city authorities?" he asked curtly.

"No, sir!" Solo reported.

"You are really slick, Solo, aren't you?" the captain hissed provokingly.

Han looked down at his commanding officer – partially just to madden him, partially because he was really much taller. "Yes, sir! Definitely, sir!" he responded in a crisp voice.

Cravis cursed and looked at him murderously. "Mind you, Solo, if I want to destroy you, I'll do it!"

For a long moment their eyes were fixed on each other. Cravis was first to look away. "Dismissed," he growled.

Han saluted smartly, turned around and left the room.

"Hey, Solo!"

Han looked up from the datapad and sighed in trepidation. _Can't a guy read in peace for more than half an hour?_ "Get lost, Wilkers."

"Old Man's calling you." The lanky engineer grinned sympathetically. He knew his pal's secret flaws, one of them being reading scientific reports.

"I am not on duty," Han pointed out hopefully. "You didn't find me, right?"

"No way. You can tell him that yourself."

"Some friend." Han cleared the screen and stood up. "If he sends me to gremfa knows where, I'll strangle you with your favorite wiring."

"Come on, Han, what could I have done?" the engineer asked plaintively.

Solo sighed, honest as ever. "Not have gotten in his way, in the first place, I believe."

"Can I catch you tonight for the next session on that damned circuit?" Wilkers called as Han palmed the door open.

"And they say I am presumptuous," the Corellian commented dramatically.

Han was slightly surprised, when Colonel Drakert informed him it was not actually he, who summoned the young man. "You are awaited at the library, Lieutenant," he concluded.

A little annoyed at that continuous re-directing, Solo stepped in the room and was brought to a halt momentarily, when the tall man in his early forties turned away from the window to face him. "Colonel Leghar," Han acknowledged with a sincere smile.

"Glad to see you, Han," the older man replied, and his eyes were smiling, too, when he stretched out his hand for a handshake.

"Is it just a friendly visit?" Han inquired.

"Will you believe me, if I say I came to celebrate your award with you?" the colonel asked, then added solemnly, "No kidding, Han. I am proud as hell and at a loss for words."

"Uh… thanks," Solo muttered, looking away.

"Stars! You've managed to keep your modesty in place, all right," remarked the colonel with a smile. "As well as your arrogance, I guess."

"Have I told you already that you have become even more biting than before?"

The colonel laughed. He missed those disrespectful jokes – and he missed that impertinent boy more than he had ever foreseen. Solo was like a fresh breeze in the endless sky, and Leghar knew fairly well he was not the only one, who thought so. Han was not only admired, respected and envied. His squad adored him. To put it mildly, General Xagler's words were dead on target. "This boy was born to lead. And he is a commander worth being followed and dying with."

The colonel clasped the young Corellian's shoulder. "Well, I wasn't completely joking about celebration. And I want you to meet one person."

"Again?" Solo asked in mock horror.

Leghar snorted. "I apologized to you," he reminded. "This time there will be no swords, I can promise that much." Once he introduced Han to one of the other agents, who needed an ace pilot for a mission to Drella, but he hadn't found out the details about the world to inform the Corellian, so Han ended up facing two swordsmen with nothing else but his knife, while covering the retreat of the group. Leghar suspected it was a legendary fight because Han managed to win it despite the odds, but it cost him a couple of bad wounds. Leghar knew Solo didn't blame him, though.

And now, sensing the colonel's distress, Han interrupted his guilt trip. "If he is such a bore as that old idiot Fredair, I quit."

Leghar chuckled again. "No, he is far from being a bore, but he is a little prim and demanding."

Han groaned in half-genuine apprehension. "Come to think of it, I'd prefer a bore, you know."

To an impassive observer, the scene, which took place in a booth of the fortress cantina, would have seemed most unusual. All the free occupants wore the Imperial uniform and addressed one another by rank, but they seemed to have dismissed most of the subordination standards, though one of them, a blond man in his late thirties, with a major insignia, didn't look happy with the procedure.

"Well, all the details settled," Leghar concluded in an hour. "Han, you'd better go and get ready. And don't forget to inform Colonel Drakert. I warned him, of course, but you must report to him, anyway. We'll wait for you here."

"Sure," Solo nodded, rising.

Nide Carvelt watched him go, recalling the list of the abilities the Corellian claimed he possessed, then turned back to Leghar. "Was he boasting?"

The colonel shook his head with a hint of a smile hiding in a corner of his lips. "Perhaps, he tried to. It's rather hard for Solo to boast. Because he is capable of doing much more than he pretends to be."

"So, if I need the best one…"

"Take Solo."

"You must know him pretty well to be that sure."

"I think I do," Leghar answered reflectively.


End file.
